


Undress Me

by Brinchestiel



Series: Destiel Drabbles, Prompts, One-shots, IDK. [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel-centric, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Cute Castiel/Dean Winchester, First Kiss, Human Castiel, M/M, Past Castiel/Crowley (Supernatural), Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 14:52:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5544104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brinchestiel/pseuds/Brinchestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has been in living in hermit-mode (when it comes to love, at least) for the past two years. When he gets an urgent appeal from his brother to star in a short film he's making about strangers undressing one another on camera, he feels somewhat obliged. All in the name of art, right?</p><p>Inspired by this gorgeous video of the same title: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pKZa-Kb4Nng&ab_channel=TatiaPIlieva</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undress Me

**Author's Note:**

> Worth noting that Dean is in fact Dean Smith in this piece, i.e not related to Sam. Dean Smith dressed as Dean Winchester though because I couldn't leave out that leather jacket. Eventually I'll have the courage to write Sam properly, but today is not that day XD.

** Undress Me **

 

Castiel took one more steadying breath, as if it would succeed where the previous hundred he’d tried on his walk to his brother’s studio had failed. He raised his hand to the buzzer; the studio was on the top floor of a large block of flats, a pent house in the fashionably run-down London town of Shoreditch. His stomach churned as the buzzer buzzed.

“He-ello?” came the crackly, far away sound of his brother’s voice.

“It’s Castiel,” he replies, his voice ricocheting violently out of his mouth, which only made him panic more; he needs to be cool, collected for his brother’s project, not a blathering mess.

_Will you just calm down?!_

“Cas!” he cries, a louder buzzer sounding with a click of the lock on the front door, “Come on in, bud, 7th floor.”

The forceful fizz and pop of his stomach only intensifies as he opens the door, his eyes falling instantly to a couple giggling breathlessly as they slip back into their clothes. His brother Gabriel sits at his laptop, flipping through monochrome stills of the same couple in various states of undress, a tender smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The woman is tiny in all respects, dark hair falls about her shoulders, as she untucks it from her turtle-neck jumper. Her eyes are dark, but filled with an ineffable kindness as she trails them across the body of her partner, who is almost her exact antithesis. His broad shoulders flex and twist as he pulls a tight, white t-shirt over his head, over 6 feet off the ground. Castiel forces himself to concentrate everything he has on _not_ licking his lips, or sighing, or reaching out and touching.

_Ugh._

Gabriel had invited him to be part of his latest artistic endeavor: a short film he had titled _Undress Me._ Castiel was pretty sure the main reason for asking him was desperation… not enough responses or something. Maybe, _maybe_ a hair of brotherly love or… probably more like pity. He had been reeling from his last long term relationship for the last two years, and hadn’t had the confidence to get back _out there_ since. He’d been on a couple of awkward dates, sure, but found that actually, he was sort of enjoying the time to himself, to understand who he really was. But, ultimately, self-servicing in the shower only gets one so far, only pacifies the itch for so long; Castiel’s body had _made_ him agree to this. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad… just, undressing a total stranger in front of his brother’s camera… while his brother was in the room… for free.

_God, what am I doing?!_

As if to add insult to injury, he saw his brother press a filled-out check into each of the couple’s waiting hands as they left on a wave of giggles and barely-suppressed glances.

“Woah, Gabriel, did you just _pay_ them?” Castiel accused, bewildered and wide-eyed.

“Well… yeah; there’s a certain type of person who would undress a stranger in front of a camera _for free,”_ his older brother scoffs, moving to remake the single bed he’d placed in front of the full-length window, overlooking the rooftops of London; face-to-face with the grey skies and rolling clouds.

“ _I’m_ doing it for free!” Cas persists, his fingers pressing pointedly towards his chest.

“Brotherly love, Cas, you’re doing it to help me,” Gabriel croons, pulling the edge of the duvet straight, “You know, repaying the favour!”

“What favour?” Castiel frowns, his hands settling hard on his hips.

“This!” Gabriel motions around the room, grinning wide.

“How is this in _any way_ a favour to me? How does that even work?”

“You’ll see,” his brother says, eerily knowing, moving back to behind his camera to check the angle. When Castiel’s frown doesn’t appear to be easing itself, his hands fly up in the air in exasperation,

“Just go and stand by the bed, I need to get the framing right,” he barks impatiently, his eyes dancing with humour. Castiel sighs heavily, dragging his feet to the bed like a petulant child.

*****

Castiel stood, catching up on recent news with his brother whilst lights were shone in his eyes, over his head, in the middle of his chest; simultaneously obeying every command of ‘slightly to the left’, ‘no, your lef-why would I say _my_ left?’ and ‘I said stay there, what part of _stay there_ means you can move?’ with as much care as his nerves would let him. He felt restless, his heart busting against his ribs, sweat pooling in his lower back and palms. What would his partner be like? He assumed that since his brother considered this a favour, that his partner would be male… what age would he be? Where would he be from? Would they have a chance to get to know one another?

_No, no that’s not the point of this experiment._

This was a simple, artistic study in the intimacy shared between complete strangers; he won’t be allowed the chance to get to know his partner beforehand. He tries to dream someone up, but every attempt ends up looking like a sickening mix of his ex, Crowley, and the man he’d briefly seen as he came in. His heart throbbed sharply, stole his breath for a moment at the memory of Crowley… either that or it was the sound of the buzzer. Maybe both. His eyes fly wildly to Gabe, who just throws him a sly smile,

“You ready, broski?” he quips, walking to the door. Castiel can only swallow against the churning mix of anticipation, nerves and fear stirring in his stomach. 

_Oh, my ever-loving god._

The first thing he saw was a pair of bowed legs, wrapped in dark jeans, a moss-green t-shirt half-hidden underneath a huge, heavy-looking leather jacket. Tanned skin stretched over a long, thick neck, peppered with a light stubble that stretched over a sharp jaw line, led his eyes into a neatly styled crop of honey-brown hair. And that _face._ Castiel knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help it. This man was… _fuck._ And what was worse, the man was staring back.

_Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god._

“Dean, this is my brother, Castiel, Castiel, this is Dean; proud owner and baker at _Pie Hole,_ that bakery in town?”

Castiel nods dumbly, unable to form any sort of coherent sentence. He wonders absently if Dean gets this reaction a lot. He must do with a face like that. With a _mouth_ like that.

“Hi,” Dean offers, shuffling towards him, his eyes suddenly downcast and shy. Castiel finds himself entirely unable to reply.

“Why don’t you guys take your shoes and socks off first? It’ll make the whole… undressing thing a little easier,” Gabe smiles warmly, motioning towards the door. Castiel forces himself to appear calm as he walks to the door, bracing himself against the wall and determinedly _not_ looking in Dean’s direction. Dean was like nothing his mind could have made up, and he reminded himself to thank Gabe thrice over when this was all done.

“So… I appreciate this is a really weird situation to be in with the lights and the cameras… and me of course, but I want you guys to just ignore all that if you can,” Gabe explains when they have made their way back to standing in front of the bed and one another. Dean still hasn’t raised his eyes, and that only intensifies the electricity burning up the very air Castiel is breathing (albeit effortful and labored). Dean nods his understanding, and Castiel casts a quick glance to his brother, who simply flashes him a mirthful grin and a thumbs up.

“This whole project, as you guys may be aware, is a homage to a whole bunch of experiments conducted in the 50s where scientists told strangers to take their clothes off in the name of science, totally awkward…. But, I hope you guys will have some fun with it. Just… get lost in one another I guess. Let go,” he winks at Castiel, knowing full-well how hard it is for him to loosen his grip, to soften his need for absolute control. He resolves to try his hardest, despite himself. “We’ll get rolling in just a few moments; Dean, would you mind coming into frame from over there once more? Just for aesthetics’ sake. Um, introduce yourselves if you wish, and then… have at it! You guys are my last couple of the day, so there’s no rush,” he adds coyly, before moving around the various cameras and checking the angles.

The awkwardness that is rolling off Dean in waves is making Castiel want to methodically pull out each of his teeth, or claw the very skin from his face to escape it all; it’s so painful that his jaw clenches, his face is set in a permanent grimace. Dean just shuffles from foot to foot, looking around the room now from his new position at the door, but still not mustering the courage to look straight at Castiel. Which, of course, is endlessly frustrating, since he didn’t have a chance to see what colour Dean’s eyes were, and all of a sudden there’s a curiosity burning in the pit of his stomach, urging him to find out. He’s consumed by that curiosity, he wants to feel those eyes burn tracks over his body, wants them to look up at him through thick, dark lashes, wants to watch them darken with desi-

_Getting a hard on in front of your brother is absolutely not what we need right now, let’s just calm down, and try maybe not creaming our pants like a pubescent teenager, yeah?_

Another steadying breath. He shakes all of his limbs, methodically, one after the other, as if gearing himself up for a sporting event. Really, it’s just an excuse to do _something_ with his body, which is practically writhing beneath his skin.

“Okay,” Gabe announces and the butterflies in Castiel’s stomach swirl listlessly.

“Cameras are… rolling,” he adds, with a smile and another thumbs up. Then he sits back, as if he’s some sort of gang leader at a strip club… which, however bitterly Castiel thinks it, the more he considers it, the more it sort of becomes a little bit true.

_This is by far the weirdest fucking thing you’ve ever done._

*****

Castiel fiddles with the sleeve of his trench coat, feeling the eyes of the camera burning holes in his skin, uncomfortable under the heat of the lights. But, then Dean is walking towards him, and when he’s finally in frame, he looks up, and Castiel entirely forgets his own name.

“I’m Dean,” he says, some of his shyness from earlier mysteriously vanished.

“Castiel,” he manages, and _good God,_ is there nothing about this man that’s not intensely beautiful? His eyes: the colour of holly and ivy, the colour of shield bugs, or fields in summer rain. Green was always Castiel’s favourite colour, but he suddenly felt like he should be more specific. After all, there were so many shades of green out there, and Dean’s eyes have quickly become the best out of all of them.

“So, we just…” Dean turns to Gabe, motioning between them. Castiel can’t stop staring; any part of Dean that the man offers he’s more than happy to commit to memory. If this is the only time he ever gets to spend with Dean, he’s glad it’s spent exploring his body, and having those hands explore him in turn. Gabriel simply nods, his hands spread wide.

Dean’s exhalation brushes warmth across Castiel’s cheeks, causing his eyes to fall involuntarily closed. When he opens them again, Dean aims a cautious smile, deep dimples and all, lines it up directly to Castiel’s heart, and shoots.

_Bullseye._

“So, do you mind if I start with your coat?” Dean asks, tentatively reaching towards him, whilst also closing the distance between them. Castiel tries a smile of his own, but he feels it pulling the corners of his mouth down in more of a grimace. Dean’s hands still midair and Castiel curses under his breath.

“No, sorry, I’m just nervous,” he laughs breathily, “Coat sounds good, a coat for a coat,” his grin comes a little easier this time, and he’s pleased to see Dean visibly relax at the sight of it. Castiel watches his chest expand and contract with each heaving breath, and he tries his best to mimic it in another vain attempt to calm himself. Dean moves right into his personal space, reaching for the shoulders of his coat, and now he can see delicate little freckles spread across the tanned skin of his nose, and across his sharp cheekbones.

 _Really? Anything else?_ he thinks bitterly, feeling more and more like an ugly duckling in this man’s presence.

Dean’s hands slip under the shoulders of his coat, his eyes watch intently as they push the trench coat down Castiel’s arms. Dean’s pacing is _reverent_ , and Castiel makes a mental note to take just as much time as Dean is taking, to take the time to know his skin, to gather every nuance, every detail. He wonders what his partner is thinking.

Castiel grips his own forearm with his hand, running his thumb along the underside, a comforting gesture in times of self-consciousness. Dean’s hands come to brush lightly against his own, and Castiel’s breath catches somewhere in his throat. The smile Dean is wearing is gently encouraging, and he remembers that Dean is still wearing that well-worn leather jacket.

 _Okay, okay, you can do this,_ he chants, as he presses himself into Dean, reaching under the lapels to run his hands up his chest; perhaps a little bolder than he’d expected of himself, but from here he can feel Dean’s heart beat, matching his own, beat for frantic beat, and he doesn’t feel so bashful anymore. The skin beneath the soft cotton of the t-shirt is the welcoming warmth of smoldering coals, and Castiel restrains the sudden urge to slip his arms into that jacket alongside Dean’s. He lets out another shuddering breath as he slides the heavy coat off of Dean’s strong arms. The t-shirt is long-sleeved, it turns out, rolled up around his elbows to reveal even darker forearms. Castiel bites back an appreciative hum; he always had a weakness for tanned skin and strong arms. Dean’s breath tickles his cheek, and he raises his eyes as the coat falls with a _thud_ to the carpeted floor. Dean’s face is careful, but Castiel wouldn’t say guarded. Skilled fingers are reaching between them to loosen Castiel’s already loose blue tie, and he really has to curb his urge to help, letting Dean enjoy free-reign. That was, afterall, what this exercise was all about, right? Letting your guard down, giving yourself over to someone else. The intimacy of this was so much more overwhelming than Castiel had previously imagined; he thought it would sort of be awkward but akin to that of a one night stand; all adrenaline, frenetic and rushed. But, if anything, it was possibly the scariest thing he’d ever done because it _wasn’t_ rushed. Letting a perfect ( _perfect_ ) stranger undress him without so much as a ‘hello’… Another steadying breath.

_In through the nose and out through the mouth._

“You always dress so formal?” Dean laughs, adding Castiel’s limp tie to the pile of their clothes. Some knot in Castiel’s chest is beginning to unravel, and he finds himself laughing freely without having to tell himself to. It surprises him.

“For dates?” he jokes back, hoping Dean will realise he’s not even the slightest bit serious. Luckily, he throws his head back with a laugh that still dances in his eyes when he fixes them upon Castiel again. His hands move to the buttons on Castiel’s shirt,

“Bit of a strange first date, you couldn’t have got me a drink first?”

Castiel grins, reaching for the hem of Dean’s t-shirt; while he’ll be sad to see it on the ground instead of hugging to his torso in a truly sinful way, he’s starting to feel impatient; wanting to explore skin, to really _see_ Dean. His partner pulls back from the buttons, to lift his arms above his head. Castiel has to press his chest entirely to Dean’s, as he rocks up onto tip-toes to pull it off entirely; he shivers as the warmth of the other man's skin reaches through his shirt. Without thinking, Castiel’s hands are on his chest, running themselves over his smooth skin, exploring bumps and ridges, scars and goose bumps. Dean’s are busying themselves with Castiel’s buttons, but a cursory glance at his face tells Castiel that perhaps he’s having a bit of trouble.

“My hands are shaking too much,” Dean snorts, holding his hands up to Castiel’s face for proof, “I can’t do your buttons.”

They’re both laughing giddily, and Castiel wordlessly helps Dean with his buttons; he works from the top, Dean from the bottom. Castiel can’t remember the last time he was gasping for breath from laughing, but he knows now that it’s a feeling he’s missed. Dean’s laugh is infectious; every time Castiel begins to recover, Dean starts again, and he finds himself powerless to resist; caught up in the midst of that sound, like a pebble in the tide. Dean’s shaking hands fall upon his skin as soon as Castiel’s shirt pools about his feet, and Castiel feels his eyes flutter shut. His touches, despite the shaking, are firm and sure, sweeping across his chest, down his arms, across his shoulders, up his neck, and Castiel lets him. That’s the best bit, just letting Dean touch him this way. His partner huffs a breath, still laughing a little as his hands reach for the button of Castiel’s trousers.

“I hope you’re not laughing at me,” Castiel teases, his eyes finally drifting open again. His hands hover over Dean’s shoulders as the man kneels to pull the trousers down his legs, longing to touch, but also requesting permission. As Dean lifts his eyes to Cas', the stubble on his chin drags deliciously against his stomach. Instead of moaning, or feeling immensely turned on though, he feels himself smiling warmly down at Dean, like this isn’t the first time they’ve done this. It’s such a peculiar feeling that he starts laughing again, his head tilted way back. Dean’s hands beg for his attention as they land solidly on his hips. He looks back down and the man beneath him suddenly looks so sincere he feels his heart break,

“I wouldn’t laugh at you, look at you,” he says.

_Jesus H Christ._

“Stand up, Dean,” he says, feeling somewhere close to calm, even though his heart is still fluttering like a caged bird. He copies Dean’s actions; caressing the muscles of his arms, picking up each hand in turn and studying, laughing when he sees the flour stuck under his nails. Dean’s fingers curl around his own, and _God this is so weird._ Castiel feels like they've have always been this way, like his hands already know the map of Dean’s skin. Rationally, he knows they’ve known each other for all of five minutes, but he finds it easy to believe that maybe he’s known Dean his whole life.

_Why is that?_

He kneels down to undo Dean’s jeans, but the button is stubborn. It holds stiffly in place, and Dean’s laughing a-new, his fingers brushing gently in Castiel’s hair, still investigating, still discovering.

“I… can’t-“

The sound of tearing denim rips through the air, and the button comes away in his hand. He holds it up for Dean to see,

“Never mind, I totally just broke your jeans,” he wheezes, “I’m so sorry!” Dean chuckles, curling his fingers in Castiel’s hair. He relaxes at the touch, resting his forehead against the soft pouch of Dean’s stomach as he pulls the jeans over his hips, letting the man shake his legs comically until they spread about his feet.

“No worries, they’re not my favourite or nothin’,” Dean assures, helping Castiel to his feet once more and pulling him close. He takes the opportunity to drown himself in the evergreen of Dean’s eyes.

“Hey,” Castiel whispers uselessly, feeling like putty under Dean’s confident hands.

“Hi,” Dean replies, backing up to the bed and sitting, bouncing slightly, the springs complaining loudly. Despite his devil-may-care exterior, Castiel can tell he’s a little lost for what he’s meant to do now. Maybe it just takes one to know one. He steps forward a ways, coming to stand right at the edge of the bed, between Dean’s legs.

“Hello,” Dean grins, his hands travelling down the backs of Castiel’s thighs.

“You can stop greeting me now, Dean, I know you’re here,” he teases, his hands drawn to Dean’s cheeks like metal to a magnet. He shivers involuntarily, but whether that was down to the drag of nails across the skin on the underside of his knees, or Dean’s spearmint-heavy breath against his bare stomach he couldn’t tell.

“You cold?” Dean murmurs against the palm of Castiel’s hand. He's not, of course; he feels like he’s burning _supernova_ underneath his skin, but he nods,

_yes, Dean, I would very much like to be close to you in this bed right now thank you very much, please, thank you kindly to you,_

and finds himself a little startled at his unbridled enthusiasm… how much he’s _not_ bothered by this. He knows nothing about Dean, Dean knows nothing about him, and yet… here they are. Knowing one another.

_Heh, that was a good joke, you should tell Gabe that one later._

Dean shimmies up the bed, slipping inside the covers and pulling it back enough for Cas to clamber in. It’s only a single, and there’s barely enough room for the both of them, but Castiel finds he doesn’t mind a jot. Dean smells salt-sweet and earthy, a little hint of ‘Sure’ deodorant as he lifts his arm for him to scoot even closer. When he speaks again, Castiel can feel the words rumble against his ear as he presses it to the safe harbor of his chest,

“This is… hell, this is the weirdest thing I’ve ever done, but it’s… it’s sort of nice, right?” Dean pulls the duvet more firmly about Castiel’s shoulders, tucking him in like a child. It’s so unexpected that a laugh bursts forth from his lips, and he feels it bubble up inside Dean too, tumbling from his mouth like a waterfall. Castiel props himself up on his elbow, to better see that mirth etched on that perfect face. He chases it with his fingertips, and Dean promptly stills and holds his breath.

“Yeah, it’s… it’s nice,” is all his befuddled brain can muster. He feels drunk. He feels invincible.

He feels like kissing Dean.

He leans in centimeter by torturous centimeter; he doesn’t want to break the magic now by asking if Dean would be all right with kissing him… but he wants to give him the time to decide.

“Cas…” he whispers, his hand coming to rub little circles on the back of Castiel’s neck, and then he’s pulling him down the rest of the way.

Their lips meet, and though there are no fireworks, no chorus singing _Hallelujah_ , Castiel feels. For the first time in two years, he _feels._

Dean rolls onto his back, pulling Castiel with him, and he kisses so tenderly, so gently Castiel fears he might burst.

“Alright guys, beautiful! Cut,” Gabe chimes from the other side of the room where he’s switching the last camera off, but Castiel can’t find it in himself to pay him any mind at all, can’t even muster surprise; Gabe was right, it was stupidly easy to get lost in Dean altogether, to forget his surroundings and the presence of his brother. He breaks away from Dean’s lips, only to start exploring every part of his body that his hands had found earlier, only this time with his mouth.

“Guys?” Gabe says, a little louder. Dean moans as Castiel’s tongue finds a nipple.

“Alright, alright, I’m out, I’m gone! Don’t say I don’t do nothin’ for you, little bro,” he shouts over his shoulder as the door closes behind him. Dean chuckles around another moan,

“Hey, do you maybe want to grab a coffee?” His hands find Castiel’s arms and heft him back up to face him. He flips their bodies effortlessly, crowding in close and kissing Castiel again, before treating his features with the same tender touches he’d received. Castiel huffs in amusement, and loops his arms about Dean’s neck,

“Later, Dean,” he touches his lips to Dean’s again, “Later.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a little unsure of this? I may well take it down and re-write it, but inspiration dug its claws in deep! I hope you guys liked it, anyway. Love, as always <3


End file.
